Richard Castle, Grown Up
by eLynda
Summary: The transformation of Rick Castle is astounding.  This story takes a look at his progression from "a nine-year-old on a sugar rush" to the fun-loving adult he currently is in Season Four, a man worthy of Kate Beckett.
1. A Nine Year Old on a Sugar Rush

Author's Note: I went back recently and watched parts of Season One for another story I was working on. I was truly surprised to see what Castle had been like back then. His growth has been tremendous and I thought it might be fun to watch it happen in a condensed fashion. This is what came out of that; it's mostly character thoughts and fillers. And if you think I'm too harsh on our favorite writer, check the pilot episode out again—you'll be shocked, too! Don't worry, this only encompasses the first five or so episodes and then he starts radically changing, as does the relationship between he and Beckett.

Disclaimer: _Castle_ and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

_Richard Castle, Grown-Up_

_Chapter One: A Nine-Year-Old on a Sugar Rush_

She was standing in Captain Montgomery's office.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

"No way."

"Beckett, listen,"

She wouldn't ordinarily interrupt her superior but she had to make him see the lunacy of what he was saying. "Sir, he is like a nine year old on a sugar rush, totally incapable of taking anything seriously."

When she turned around at the nod of her Captain, she saw Richard Castle standing there with that smirk on his face, knowing he'd won even before she'd been told of this turn of events.

She walked past him, out the door and back to her desk, her thoughts in turmoil. _He's a pain in my tail. I can't stand the man! Okay, so his books are great, but he knows it and is full of himself as a result. He's like a spoiled brat who's never been denied any toy in his life; what he doesn't have given to him, he just buys. I don't need this—my job is tough enough as it is._ She blew an exasperated breath out between clenched teeth. _A wisecracking novelist, accompanying me everywhere I go, indefinitely—just lovely. Not only that, but the books will lose their charm; I'll never be able to get past the cover without seeing his Cheshire-cat grin or turn a page without remembering how infuriating the writer is! _

She had made it through this case with him as a "consultant" but didn't know how long she could stomach him following her everywhere for research until _he_ decided that he'd had enough. This one had been significant torture already! Her exceedingly low expectations were met with his every action. Rick Castle was so self-absorbed that he had stunningly little concern for the victims they met with, almost as if they were mere characters in one of his novels. He took this first case as some sort of sick tribute to his writing, even having the effrontery to ask for pictures of the corpses to show his poker buddies. _People are dead, and he wants photos of it! _When she called him on his callous attitude, his response was, "I'm not asking for the bodies, just the pictures."

She shouldn't have been surprised by that reaction. He behaved almost as if he were entitled to whatever he wanted, simply because he was Richard Castle, novelist. _He didn't even look embarrassed by his police record when I put him in the box. He had a glib response for everything: "boys will be boys," indeed! And then he tries to put the moves on me! "Do you know you have gorgeous eyes?" Maybe all he has to do to get most women to fall at his feet is give them that smile, but I'm not like that. _His "connections" didn't impress, either; name dropping did nothing for her, even if the mayor _was_ on speed dial. Again she thought _I don't need this!_

Kate was getting tired of feeling like some kind of meat on display. As they sat opposite each other trying to find some kind of clue, a stack of his fan mail between them, he kept watching her. Did he really think she couldn't see him, that she wouldn't notice? She was a detective because she was good at her job: she spotted details others might miss. Having enough of his leering, she confronted him, but unfortunately the conversation took a turn she didn't foresee.

Wanting to know her story, he figured he'd just ask. He was astonished when she challenged _him_ to tell her what her story was. He began slowly with what he had surmised from the little things, watching her face for signs that he was on the right track. Castle grew bolder as he gained confidence in his little theory. "You had options; yeah you had lots of options, better options, more _socially acceptable_ options. And you still chose this. That tells me something happened. Not to you; you're wounded, but you're not _that_ wounded. No, it was somebody you cared about; it was someone you loved. And you probably could have lived with that, but the person responsible was never caught. And that, Detective Beckett, is why you're here."

He saw the look on her face, the pain that he had put there with his careless words, and a twinge of regret passed through him. What had started as a display of his genius, hoping to impress her, had become hurtful instead. Usually his words didn't have that kind of power; he wrote to entertain. His little victory turned out to be a painful moment, both for himself and for the beautiful detective.

On the other side of that stack of mail, Kate Beckett was absolutely outraged! How dare he presume to know her? Never mind that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head, but he'd gotten one detail wrong at least: she was _that_ wounded.

She found, however, that she wasn't quite as immune to his charm as she tried to convince herself. Castle had fooled her with his "gift," the copy of _Storm Fall_, signed to her with his thanks. Then he had told her it was nice to have met her, kissed her on the cheek and quietly walked out of her life. No jokes, no innuendo, no attempt to extract more from her than she was willing to give. Her jaw dropped a bit as she considered that maybe she had misjudged him after all. Could it be possible that below that bad boy, self-important exterior was a real man with a genuine heart? It wouldn't be the first time he had surprised her, but she had to admit it was the first time it was a pleasant one. She sat down and puzzled over her own reaction for a moment, and then a thought hit her almost physically: "he didn't." She checked the file. "Oh, he _did_!" At least she no longer questioned her first impression of the man—he was willing to do or say anything to get what he wanted from whomever he wanted it! _He took the crime scene photos!_

And that was only one example of his breaking the rules. Because he wasn't accustomed to following anyone's orders, he was going to have his own way no matter who it impacted. So, if she was going to be forced to endure his presence and he was going to continue to act like a child, she decided to treat him like one. It had its satisfying moments, too. She was talking on her cell phone during one case and he invaded her personal space trying to listen in on the conversation. Grabbing hold of his ear, she literally pulled him away from her head. The man didn't understand subtlety.

He was rude, arrogant, self-centered and so much more. But she had to find a way to make this arrangement work, so she started giving back what she got from him. She went to a book signing and stared him down, mocking his reading of _Storm Fall_. When he asked her if she was trying to tell him how to do his job, her reply was simply, "annoying, isn't it?"

But then, a strange thing happened: the Tin Man got a real heart, or perhaps she just caught a glimpse of it at last. She saw him finally empathize a bit with the parents of a murder victim, relating it to his own relationship with his daughter and how such events would impact him. Kate Beckett began to see Richard Castle as a real person himself, and he wasn't _so_ bad at being a dad, or a son for that matter; he had allowed his mother to move back in with him. Maybe he did have some redeeming qualities; maybe she'd let him follow her a little while longer.


	2. The Onion's First Layers

Author's Note: See notes on Chapter One for a more complete introduction. This chapter took much longer to write than I had planned; I think it's the transition in their early relationship that I'm having difficulty with—it's more challenging than I expected to keep the later episodes out of it and stick to _only_ what's in the first season so far, without rushing the characters to who they are currently in the third season. I also realized that I was trying to put too much into a single chapter, so this one just deals with the end of episode 1.5 _A Chill Goes Through Her Veins_. Hopefully it won't take me so long to update again, and thanks for waiting.

Disclaimer: _Castle_ and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

_Richard Castle, Grown-Up_

_Chapter Two: The Onion's First Layers_

Maybe he did have some redeeming qualities; maybe she'd let him follow her a little while longer.

If that was going to be the situation, though, she had to tell him about her mom's case. _He notices things, and I can't have him forever bringing Mom up. I can't work with that kind of constant distraction. _Everyone else already knew the story, and they also knew it was a taboo subject. Her suffering was common knowledge, as was the belief that if anyone _could _have solved it, Johanna Beckett's daughter would have done it.

Castle hung up the phone, looking a little sheepish. "Alexis missed me," was the justification he gave for his soft-hearted talk to the girl on the other end of the line. She bantered with him for a moment, then took a deep breath and launched in. "By the way, it was my mother, not my father." Instantly the joking attitude vanished and he settled back into what he had come to think of as "his" chair at Beckett's desk. He knew this was difficult for her and was pleased that she was finally telling him what had happened without further prodding on his part.

"We were supposed to go dinner together, my mom, my dad, and I, and she was going to meet us at the restaurant but she never showed. Two hours later, we went home and there was a detective waiting for us, Detective Raglan. They found her body, she had been stabbed." She stopped.

"A robbery?" he queried. He didn't want the narrative to end yet; he still had so many unanswered questions. "No. She still had her money, her purse and jewelry. And it wasn't a sexual assault, either. They attributed it to gang violence. A random, wayward event."

Now they were getting to the crux of why this particular case that they had just closed of a mom missing for years had been so frustrating for Beckett. It also explained why she had experienced such a strong reaction to the man who was now a sheriff, the man who had initially investigated the case several years ago. Castle remembered her words when they returned to the car after talking with the man in the coffee shop: "I hate cops like him. Guys like him, things only make sense if they fit in the box. So they _make_ them fit and murderers go free." It wasn't just that she was helping a family find the closure that had eluded her all these years, it was about finally knowing the truth, a precious commodity to someone who didn't have her own answers yet.

Her voice, continuing the story, pulled him back to the present, or rather, to her past. "They couldn't think outside the box so they just tried to package it up nicely and the killer was never caught." _My instincts were right—that was almost the same wording she had used before, about the other case. This one had hit far too close to her own story, to the way the truth had been disregarded because it required more thought and searching than was convenient._ He had already understood that she valued the truth highly; he had witnessed it as she went to bring in the grandfather despite empathizing with why he had killed his son-in-law, a murderer the police hadn't been able to catch. But now he comprehended that the truth _itself_ was what drove her to do her job so completely, to provide certainty for others despite not being able to provide it for herself. Even though the truth might hurt, it was better than the not knowing.

Castle realized that she was extending a sort of olive branch to him; she trusted him enough to tell him about her mom's case. And they had worked together to find this killer, to obtain answers for this family. In fact, she had _come _to him for help. She never said those words exactly, but he knew enough about her state of mind to not make her verbalize the request. Maybe they were on their way to friendship at last.

Storyteller that he was, however, he thought that perhaps he should have a go at this one. Possibly he'd be able to solve the case and ingratiate himself to the pretty detective in the process. _A win-win situation, if I do say so. Now, who would get the file for me?_

She stood up and the movement caught his attention. Keys in hand, Beckett was headed out for the night.

"Until tomorrow, Detective."

"You can't just say 'night,' Castle?"

"I'm a writer. 'Night' is boring. 'Until tomorrow' is more… hopeful."

"Yeah, well, I'm a cop. Night."

As she walked away, he quietly tried out the word himself. "Night." Maybe it wasn't so boring coming from her. She had a way of making him look at things differently. She was… complex; there was more to her than many of the women he had known. Perhaps that was what made her so interesting? He was almost glad she had refused his offer to "debrief" each other at the end of that first case. Had he gotten what he wanted at the time, he was uncomfortably aware that he would have lost interest in her all too soon, having never taken the time to really get to know each facet of her personality. _That_ would have been tragic, indeed.

As he contemplated Detective Beckett, another detective approached him from behind.

"With as many women as you have fawning all over you, do you really want to go after the one you can't have?" Javier Esposito asked him in a teasing tone. "I _knew_ this was going to be better than _Shark Week_!"

He rose from the chair, turned around and faced the grinning man. "Can't have? Do you really believe that?"

"Man, Beckett's not the love-'em and leave-'em type. And she's met enough powerful men that have turned out to be creeps that she won't be impressed by your money or status, either. Now, what do you have left in your arsenal? I'm telling you, what you've used before will _not _work with this woman. She's got class."

He put his hand to his chest in mock pain. "You wound me, Detective. But that really doesn't matter. I'm not out to _have_ anyone. I was simply considering her mother's case."

"Her_ mother_? Johanna Beckett's case? She told you about it?" The look of stunned disbelief on his face was almost comical.

"Yeah, of course. Why would you even ask me that?"

"I'm just surprised, that's all. That was a very painful part of her life. She never talks about it. We all know what happened," he gestured with his hand in a circular motion, indicating the group of desks at hand, "but it's because we watched it from the outside. We saw how late she stayed, the dark circles that didn't leave her face for years, but she didn't share much of that with any of us. We were all beat cops back then, still getting to know each other and trying to make it in this tough environment. None of us dared approach her about why she became a cop because we all _knew_, and eventually she shared bits and pieces with those of us that are closest to her. Lanie probably knows the most about it, and the toll it took on her in those early years."

"Yes, well, maybe she's just mellowed about it. Anyway, her reason doesn't really matter. I was hoping you'd get me a look at that file, see if there's anything I can find…"

"What?" Esposito almost shouted. As a few heads snapped up from paperwork, he shook his head and lowered his voice before continuing. "No way! She told you what she wanted you to know and I'm not going to have her reading her mom's story on page seventy five of your new book. She'd kill me if she found out that I'd given you access to that file!"

"Wait a minute, you're misunderstanding my motives, here. I'm not trying to give Nikki a back-story, I just want to help Beckett solve this case."

"Help? Come on, Castle. You're a _writer_. You can't just make up details to fix this, to rewrite it with some kind of satisfying conclusion. Detective Beckett is one of the best in all of New York. Forget that, she's one of the best in the country. Why would she need _your_ help to solve the case? And what makes you so sure that you'd find something she missed, _if _she missed anything, that is?"

"Look, Esposito. You know she's looked over this case _too_ much and it's her _mother_ we're talking about. She's too close to see everything clearly. Besides, even if I'm no help, I've got contacts, professionals I've worked with in the past who might notice something, who can be counted on to keep this close to the vest. Let me try. Please?"

A reluctant but ultimately convinced Esposito took him to the recesses of the records room and left him there with multiple threats ringing in his ears about what would happen to Castle should Beckett find out about his help with these extracurricular activities. Rick settled down to do some reading. Now this kind of research he enjoyed; the atmosphere down here was amazing! A small desk, a dim work lamp, surrounded by files from years ago. Very film noir. Very appropriate for his upcoming novel.

He threaded his fingers together and stretched his arms out from his body, then opened the file and began looking. _Now, to find the story that makes everything make sense._ After reading page after page of notes, scanning crime scene photos and the M.E.'s report, he quickly became discouraged at the sheer volume of information here; there was no way to put it all together in a few hours, even though he was a speed reader. He'd have to smuggle the file out, copy it, and return it tomorrow. That would be a little tricky, but it was do-able and definitely safer than sneaking down here each day after working with Detective Beckett—too many ways to get caught. He didn't want to get her hopes up if he couldn't solve the case. Besides, he had to have something for his consultants to look at, too. There really was no way he could do this on his own; his contacts and resources would surely be needed if he was to have any hope of solving what had happened to Johanna Beckett.


	3. Do You Understand?

Author's Note: See notes on Chapter One for a more complete introduction. This chapter deals with episodes 1.6_ Always Buy Retail – _1.10_ A Death in the Family_ and is mostly from Castle's perspective; since I'm looking at his growth, the interior struggle seemed best coming from him rather than from an outside viewpoint.

Disclaimer: _Castle_ and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

_Richard Castle, Grown-Up_

_Chapter Three: Do You Understand?_

There really was no way he could do this on his own; his contacts and resources would surely be needed if he was to have any hope of solving what had happened to Johanna Beckett.

That very morning he had met with "Dr. Death," one of the best forensic pathologists around. He had given over his copy of the case file to Dr. Murray to see what he could discover ten years after the case had been active. If it could be found, he would find it, Castle was confident. The problem was that Detective Beckett had just gotten _very_ angry as he had broached the subject of reopening her mother's case, and at his suggestion that they work on it together.

Why hadn't he listened when his mother had told him to back off? _Sure. Right. Because she always gives stellar advice and I always heed it. But this one is going to come back to bite me, big time. I just know it._ It had started off innocently enough, with a timid beginning: he wanted to ask her something. "Since when do you ask permission to ask questions?" she had replied. _Never, that was the problem in this case._ Her emphatic words on the subject after he voiced his ideas were still echoing so very loudly in his ears, tormenting him. "Castle, you touch my mom's case and you and I are done. Do you understand?" _Yeah. I understand. Oh, why didn't you tell me that before I took the file, before I had someone start looking into it?_

He was trapped, really. As they travelled down to street level in the elevator, he considered his hopeless position. He couldn't go back and change what he had done, but neither could he now go forward. Lying was not a good option. Even if he could get away with it, there would always be an invisible barrier between them. He had gotten to know Detective Kate Beckett a little bit and had come to genuinely like her, not just as his inspiration, not just as a desirable woman, but for herself—everything that made her the incredible lady that she was. But one thing he had learned early and learned well: the truth was the most important thing to her.

Despite his internal distress, Castle forced all of these thoughts to the background while they worked on the plastic surgeon's murder. _Perhaps I won't have to tell her about it after all—if Dr. Murray can't find anything, then my little foray into her past will be over before it's really begun. I'll destroy my copy of the file and only Esposito will know that I even looked at it. He won't talk because he's the one who got it for me. I don't have to worry about this right now. I can't worry about this right now._

Life went on as usual: they solved cases and locked up bad guys, or girls as the case dictated. Then, several days later, the phone call came that he had dreaded. "Rick, this is Clark Murray. Can I come over?" Castle knew then that he had found something, something so terrible that he didn't want to deliver the blow over the phone.

As he paced the floor anticipating the doctor's arrival, Castle remembered his conversation with Detective Beckett as they waited for word on Agent Sorenson. She felt responsible for his condition since she had pushed for the meet and it was leaving the meet that he had been shot. It was hard, watching her beat herself up over something she really didn't cause. Right before they found out that Sorenson was going to be fine, he had told her she was extraordinary, and meant every word of it. That was why this was so hard for him. _I don't want to lose her, not now, not when I'm just getting to know who she is. _

_The past weeks and months have been… wonderful._ There was no other way to describe them. Beckett seemed to have accepted his presence in her life and a sort of camaraderie had developed between them, as had a good-natured banter. He'd make a stupid, childish remark and rather than ignoring him, she usually had a smart comeback. It was getting so he was saying some of the most immature things he could think of, trying to provoke a response from the good detective. That was the main reason for the bulletproof vest. Sure, it was a necessary piece of safety equipment, but the extra money he paid for the "WRITER" patch had been well worth it as he watched her eyes roll when she saw it. _I'm good for her, even if she won't admit it, yet. _He kept her smiling, even in tense moments.

He had proven his worth in more than just keeping things light. He had provided "eyes" and a distraction in the gun battle as they finished up a case not so long ago; even she had admitted that he had probably saved her life. He enjoyed that. But rather than simply accept her thanks, he deliberately toyed with her a bit. Maybe it was the champagne he had consumed from the bottle he used to distract the shooter; or maybe it was the adrenaline rush from the gun battle that made him do it, just to see how she would react. "Probably? I _definitely_ saved your life. And you know what that means, don't you? It means you owe me." She looked a little angry. _Good. I'm getting under her skin. She does react to me, then. _

"Owe you what?" she demanded.

"Whatever I want. And you know exactly what I want, don't you?" He put on his most mischievous smile and started moving toward her, letting his body language imply what he wanted. "You know what I really, really want you to do." He adjusted his glass and moved closer to her. Just as it looked like he was going to kiss her, he altered his path and whispered in her ear. "Never, ever, call me 'kitten.'" Unfortunately for him, the reaction he got from _himself_ was what proved to be rather surprising. He didn't expect to have to fight so hard to keep from kissing her, but being that close and knowing he absolutely should _not _follow through with that kiss had been unsettling. Rick had not been aware that he did in fact possess some self-control and wanted to make the most of it before his resolve vanished. He kept walking past her, and around the corner, down the stairs and back to the car. _Yes, distance is what I need right now._

He had other moments of nobility, too; Kate Beckett just seemed to bring out the best in him. While playing poker at his apartment, he let her win. He could handle the teasing, but didn't want her to get embarrassed by her loss, to _him_ of all people. The stakes were much higher for her with her coworkers and boss present, and she had talked her hand up so much that he just didn't have the heart to humiliate her, even if he had initially provoked her into their little duel. So he folded a winning hand. She hadn't been pleased by his actions, however, and gave back her winnings. She also insisted on a rematch, agreeing to return to his apartment and play poker, but this time, in addition to her boss, the mayor and a judge were also present. It came back around to a literal rematch, just the two of them, but she let _him_ win this time. That one had hurt. But he knew she meant well, so _he_ had given back the money. At the end of the day, they decided on a fair rematch, one-on-one with no audience, to decide the issue. It was a rare moment, just the two of them, and he enjoyed every minute of it.

But the highlight of the past few weeks had been that charity event he took her to as his date. _It wasn't really a date, I know that. It was a way to get us into the fundraiser, to solve the case._ He had to acknowledge though, just to himself, that he had savored every moment as much as if it _were_ an honest-to-goodness evening out together. He had debated sending the dress to her, partly because he did not want to start the evening out in an argument, but when she appeared at his door in the red sequined gown, he was speechless. It fit like a dream, and she had done her hair beautifully. When Martha had added a gorgeous ruby and diamond necklace to her throat, Kate Beckett was walking perfection.

The opportunity to have her to himself, even for a case, had been amazing. When he had spun her into his arms to talk, it just felt _right_; what had started as a legitimate need to discuss some new information had become a pleasant surprise as he held her in his arms, moving slowly to the music. Everything had come together nicely_._ His only complaint was that it ended all too soon. What made up for that was her returning the necklace the next morning and staying for breakfast with them after only a few token protests.

And perhaps, most importantly, she had started actually referring to them as friends during that same case. She asked him to stay in the car, as a friend. Maybe it was manipulation on her part, somehow he doubted that, but he couldn't leave the car after she asked him that way! It wasn't like he'd ultimately been left out of the action, either—staying in the car had put him right in the middle of it, and landed him a very nice shiner in the process! _I love this job!_

Dr. Murray arrived and shattered any hope he had of the easy out; he had found too much for Rick to just sweep it under the rug. _But if I tell her, I have no doubt that she will follow through on her threat. I can't just let her walk out of my life like that. Then again, if I don't tell her, I'll have lost her anyway—she'll figure it all out eventually and be even more furious with me for not telling her sooner, for not giving her the chance to follow up on this new information. What I thought was an opportunity to get on her good side has now turned into a no-win situation. I don't see any way that I can hold on to her through this._

He stared out the window, continuing to argue with himself as he watched the raindrops trace meandering paths down the glass. Finally, he came to a decision. _She's right. As much as I hate to admit it, my mother is right. I didn't leave it alone and now I have to tell Kate the truth, all of it. What I did before I knew how she felt, and what I have found as a result. She deserves that much from me, at least._


	4. Done

Author's Note: See notes on Chapter One for a more complete introduction. This chapter deals with episode 1.10 _A Death in the Family_, mostly the last few minutes and what happened after the screen faded to black. This is the same episode I used in my previous chapter, but I'm not repeating myself—I'm using different pieces of that episode for this portion of my story.

Disclaimer: _Castle_ and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

_Richard Castle, Grown-Up_

_Chapter Four: Done. _

He stared out the window, continuing to argue with himself as he watched the raindrops trace meandering paths down the glass. Finally, he came to a decision. _She's right. As much as I hate to admit it, my mother is right. I didn't leave it alone and now I have to tell Kate the truth, all of it. What I did before I knew how she felt, and what I have found as a result. She deserves that much from me, at least._

Seeing no point in delaying the inevitable, Castle went in search of Beckett. He checked in first at the precinct, where the guys told him that she'd made an early day of it and went to visit Sorenson at the hospital. _Good. At least there won't be an audience for this, and that includes Special Agent Judgmental. I'll just ask to speak to her outside because there's no way on this earth that I'm going to tell her in front of Sorenson. He would no doubt completely derail any chance I have of making amends with Detective Beckett. I've seen how he looks at her and I know that expression—he wants her back and I'm in the way._

Laughter, _her _laughter bubbled out from the designated room. At least Sorenson was out of the woods for now. He hated that he was about to upset her so terribly, not long after the stress she'd just been through, but there was nothing to be done at this point—it was too late.

He stepped partway into the room and knocked softly, but loud enough for them to know someone was there.

"It's the writer monkey." He looked at Kate and asked, "What's he still doing here?" then back at Castle. "Haven't you finished your book yet?"

"Last chapter" was Rick's quiet reply. He considered that there was something very poetic about his response, then discarded the random thought as he turned to Beckett. "Do you have a sec?" The look on her face was wary, but her curiosity overcame any misgivings she had about his sudden, unexpected appearance.

"Yeah."

"Watch him, Kate, he likes you." _Okay, this is hard enough without your commentary, FBI-Man. _Despite his inward annoyance, he remained silent.

"You'll have to forgive him, he is heavily medicated." Rick tried to smile, but other than the barest hint of an upturn at the corners of his mouth, he failed miserably. He made sure that the door was fully closed behind him, and then walked down the hall to where some chairs were positioned. Beckett decided to find out what had driven Castle to seek her out here—she knew that he didn't care for Will, nicknaming him "Tall, Brooding and Judgmental," so it must be important. But he still hadn't said anything. "You look awfully serious. Is everything okay?"

"Take a seat." He gestured to one of the blue chairs to his left.

"What?" She laughed a bit, nervously. _Okay, now he's really scaring me._

"Sit down," he insisted.

She had never seen him act so serious. _Ever_. "Castle, what's going on?"

He swallowed and closed his eyes momentarily, trying to gather his courage. He took a half-step closer to her, thinking that her legs might not be able to support her long after he opened his mouth. Really, what he wanted was to be closer to her, just for a moment and probably for the last time. "It's about your mother…"

Watching the smile fade from her lips was pure agony for him. Then it got worse. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what he was trying to admit to her. Beckett took one step back from him, then two, as if just being near him was the cause for this unexpected blow. _I did this to her when I dredged up her past, _he considered ruefully. _If only I'd left it alone and never gone digging, she wouldn't be forced to deal with this again. There were so many ways I could have done things differently and we never would have come to this conversation. _To his credit, he continued to look directly at her, not avoiding the emotions he saw there, the emotions that his actions had _put_ there.

Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper, the anguish evident in every word. "Why? I _told_ you to leave it alone. I _told _you that we'd be _done._ Didn't you believe me? Have I _ever _led you to believe I'd take this lightly?"

"Please, Kate." He gently touched her arm. She shrank back from the contact, and from his use of her first name. Castle let his hand fall back to his side. "I never meant for any of this to hurt you. I just wanted to help…"

"I _told _you to leave it alone," she repeated. "I even told you what it did to me the first time around, thinking that would be the end of it, that you had some genuine human compassion _deep down_ that would prevent you from intruding where you had no business. But you're so concerned with your _stupid_ book that you wouldn't respect my feelings on the subject!" Her voice was steadily gaining volume; he noticed a nurse glance up from her station.

When he started speaking again, his voice was significantly lower than hers hoping her subconscious would recognize that they were starting to make a scene. "I didn't know your feelings when I started. Truly. I would have left it alone if I had. But by the time I brought it up to you, I had already given the file to a forensic pathologist I've worked with in the past."

"What? You've given out my mom's file? Of all the…"

"Wait, before you finish with a well-deserved adjective about my actions, there's more that I need to tell you."

"_More?_ Like what, Castle? What could you possibly say to justify this?"

"It's not a justification. It's information. Dr. Murray found some things you need to know."

She took a deep breath. "Castle, I told you before. I _can't _do this. I just _can't._ I will get sucked down, and I don't think I'll ever be able to come back up again." She shook her head and finally sat down in a chair.

He lowered himself into the seat next to the one she had taken. He reached out to hold her hand, to somehow soften what he had to tell her, but then Rick remembered her earlier reaction. His touch would bring no comfort to her right now so he linked his hands together in his lap to avoid making another mistake. "You're stronger than you realize. Remember what I told you in this very hospital not so long ago? You're extraordinary because you don't give up and you don't back down."

"This one is just too personal. It's my _mother,_ Castle."

"I know it is. And that's why I wanted to help."

"Then you should have left it alone." Her voice was rising again. "But you didn't." She sighed heavily and took a deep breath. "Alright. Tell me what you know and be done with it."

He related what Dr. Murray had shared with him about the stab wound to her kidney being twisted and the other wounds being for show, inflicted after she was on the ground. He told her about the three other stabbings that had been dismissed as random. "Don't you see what this means? Your mother wasn't killed on some passing whim by a gang thug. She was killed for a reason. We could find that reason and…"

She cut him off, too wounded and too furious to let him suggest yet again that he help her. "Thank you," she bit out sarcastically, "for your _consultation_ on this matter. I think I have enough information to take it from here." Her eyes were threatening to spill tears and she was not going to let _him_ watch them fall. She ran her hand through her hair and stood up. "I need you to leave now."

When he stood up but made no further movement, she turned away from him and began walking down the hall. He followed her, finally grasping her arm to halt her rapid progress. "Wait, please." She glanced down to where his hand held her arm, and then moved her gaze to lock with his. "Let go, Castle." He released her and contemplated what he might say to somehow fix all of this.

She spoke first. "I said we'd be through. And we are. I don't want to see you again at the precinct—I don't want to see you again, period. Your research with me is done. Have a nice life, Castle." She spun on her heel and left him standing there, quickening her step past Sorenson's room as she headed for the stairs. As he watched her walk away from him, more hurt and angry than he'd ever seen her, he knew that his biggest fear was coming to pass. She would never forgive him.


	5. You Like Her

Author's Note: See notes on Chapter One for a more complete introduction. This chapter deals with what we didn't see over that first summer break before episode 2.1 _Deep in Death_, although I do reference 1.9 _Little Girl Lost _and 1.10 _A Death in the Family__._

I may have taken a little bit of liberty with this whole conversation between Will Sorenson and Castle—trust me, I know they were _not _friends, but I'm excusing any instances of being out of character because Sorenson was taking painkillers and Castle was devastated by apparently losing Kate. We never see the FBI agent again, so I thought I'd have him bow out gracefully while also acting as a catalyst for a bit more growth in our favorite writer.

Disclaimer: _Castle_ and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however.

_Richard Castle, Grown-Up_

_Chapter Five: You Like Her_

As he watched her walk away from him, more hurt and angry than he'd ever seen her, he knew that his biggest fear was coming to pass. She would never forgive him.

_Well. That went poorly, to say the least._ He realized that she had been so upset that she'd left without telling Sorenson she was going. _Great. Now I have to go back in there. I can't just leave the guy wondering what happened to Kate._ He walked back to the door and again tapped on it before stepping into the hospital room.

"Uh, hey, Agent Sorenson. I just wanted to let you know that Detective Beckett just had to step out for a while—"

"Writer monkey! You're back! Come on in!" He motioned him further into the room with an erratic wave of his arm. "And call me Will. If you're going to steal my girl, at least use my first name to lower the boom."

_Yeah. He's heavily medicated, alright._

"Actually, you don't have to worry about me," Castle began. "I'm no threat. Just take good care of her, okay? Don't hurt her again." He turned around, headed toward the door, but Will's voice stopped him.

"What? You came, she left, then sends you to tell me 'bye' for her? It sounds like she just didn't want to tell me her decision in person. Funny, I never thought she was that scared of the truth before."

_This is going to take a while. _He moved to the chair beside Sorenson's bed, the one Kate had vacated earlier, and sunk into it, bone weary. "Well, she didn't _send_ me, exactly," he admitted. "But she needed to get some air, and I didn't want you to think she'd just left you. I think she'll be back in a few minutes—she needed to calm down a bit and process some things."

"Calm down? Process?" Will struggled to sit up a bit higher in the bed and grimaced with the effort. "Why would she need to do any of that?"

"I made her very angry. Sorry about that—I didn't mean to interrupt your time together, but I couldn't wait any longer to relay some information I had."

"What did you tell her? It takes a lot to make her _that_ upset."

"Umm, it's about her mother's case—"

He let out a low whistle. "You really did mess up this time, didn't you?"

Rick really didn't feel like discussing this with him right now, or _ever_ for that matter. But Sorenson was so doped up on pain meds that he probably wouldn't remember this conversation later anyway. "Yeah," was his only response. He put his head down in his hands and waited for the expected gloating, but it didn't come.

"Why did you do it?"

"I've asked myself that question a thousand times now. It started as an attempt to get on her good side, you know? Solve her mom's cold case." _Did I just say that? Admit that to her ex? Why don't I just leave now, before this gets any worse?_ But he couldn't seem to stop the words coming from his mouth, despite knowing that he was digging himself a very deep hole. "Then I really wanted to help her, to give her some closure to all of this. She doesn't realize that she's still carrying it around every day, that it's keeping her from moving on."

"You really do like her."

It was a statement, not a question, but somehow Castle felt compelled to respond. "I—, I—," he couldn't deny it, even to this man who would probably use the knowledge to his advantage. He finally just shut his mouth.

"So fight for her. Take it from me—I didn't and I'm still regretting it. Don't give up, she's worth the battle."

Shocked by Sorenson's blunt words, Rick stammered out a reply. "W-we never had anything going. We've only known each other for a few months now. I'm not exactly sure what I'd be fighting for," he quietly admitted.

"So that's the problem, is it? You don't know where you stand. I've seen how you look at each other, and at the very least you're fighting for a special kind of friendship. And don't let on that I'm the source of your information," he whispered conspiratorially, "but there's a lot you don't know about her mom's case. For example, you've already accomplished your purpose, at least partially. You just don't know it."

_Is this an instance of the painkillers muddling his thoughts? _"What are you talking about?"

"You've already helped her deal with some aspects of her mom's death."

"How can that be? She just shut me down out there—she won't even talk to me!"

"No, no, no, no, no. Before. Before she even met you." Rick's very confused expression asked Will to elaborate a bit. "Your books," he stated simply, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't exactly understand it, either. "She's read every one of them—even stood in line for a stupid autograph once. You already had an impact on her and were a part of how she struggled through that horrible time in her life, even before you knew who she was."

Rick sat back in the uncomfortable chair, speechless. Sorenson waited only a moment before continuing.

"Look, as much as I hate to say it, I've already lost her. She's over the sprinkles. I could tell when I kissed her—she was hesitant. Things aren't the same. I've been blaming you that we weren't reconnecting, thinking that if you hadn't interrupted us in that moment that I might have been able to rekindle that spark and convince her that we belonged together. I've been fooling myself that her asking for my help in speaking to Moran would be the opening I needed or that her sitting by my side in this hospital would be enough to get us back on track." He sighed heavily, staring up at the ceiling. "But as much as I would like to blame you, none of this is your fault. _I_ was stupid and left her in the first place, long before you were ever around. _I_ made work more important than our relationship. And my worst mistake was that _I_ didn't call when I got back because I realized how dumb I'd been and wasn't sure how to tell her, or how to ask for her forgiveness. I thought I'd have time later to find the perfect opportunity—but by the time I had, she'd moved on."

Sorenson's eyes refocused on Castle, and he smiled somewhat sadly. "You're missing the bright side, here, Writer Monkey. Her reaction proves that she did, in fact, trust you once. You've betrayed that trust by choosing what _you_ wanted for her over _her_ desire that you leave it alone, but she'll give you a second chance, if you can prove that you deserve it. Don't give up. Don't make my mistakes. Call her. Keep calling her even when you don't know what to say. Find ways to show her you're sorry, that you get it now. Pester her until she gives in. You're good for her in ways that I never was, ways that I never could have been."

They talked for a few more minutes, then the nurse came in to remind them that Agent Sorenson needed some rest if he was going to recuperate quickly. Rick stood and extended his hand to the other man. "Thanks. For everything."

Will accepted the handshake and smiled. "Just take care of her, okay? Don't betray her trust again when you have it back. She'll forgive once, but the second time won't be so easy."

He nodded and walked out the door, heading toward the elevator while his mind worked overtime trying to decide just how much of their conversation he could trust. Was Agent Sorenson simply speaking gibberish because the medication had affected his brain? Was he somehow trying to manipulate Rick into further damaging his relationship with Beckett? While he sure _seemed_ like a noble man, was he really _this _unselfish?

But if what Sorenson said was true, there was no reason to give her space; it would only backfire if he waited for the right words to come to mind. _Why not? What do I have left to lose?_ He dialed her phone number and waited until it went to voicemail—he was under no illusion that she'd be taking his call anytime soon. He heard her voice over the line and it was a bittersweet moment; he already missed her so much and hearing her speak, even on a recording, drove that home. The beep sounded and his mind went blank. Everything he wanted to say had fled. He cleared his voice, then launched in. "Uh, hey. It's me."


	6. I Don't Care Anymore

Author's Note: See notes on Chapter One for a more complete introduction. This chapter again deals with what we didn't see over that first summer break before episode 2.1 _Deep in Death_. This time, I'm coming from Beckett's perspective.

Disclaimer: _Castle_ and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

_Richard Castle, Grown-Up_

_Chapter Six: I Don't Care Anymore_

He cleared his voice, then launched in. "Uh, hey. It's me."

_You think I didn't know that? Why else would I have ignored my ringing phone if I didn't know it was you?_

Richard Castle would not leave her alone. He kept calling, even though she never answered her phone nor returned any of his calls. If it wasn't such a hassle, she would have changed her number last month. The paperwork within the department would have been horrible, though, so she decided to wait him out. _Liar, _her mind accused. _You know he'd have no way to get in touch if you changed your number and you want to see how far he'll pursue you. You are just looking for a reason to let him back in. _

She continued listening to the message. More of the same; he wanted to _explain_ himself. _As if I wanted to hear it. _Kate hit the number necessary to delete his latest speech. He'd leave another one within a few days.

She had to hand it to him, though. The man was tenacious. Castle had tried pleading: "Please call me back. Please. Please. Please," continuing until the message system cut him off. He tried a more formal phone call. "Detective Beckett, this is Richard Castle. I was hoping you could find it in your heart to call me back and allow me to explain my actions." Castle tried his Christopher Walken impression on her, again. "Please, call Mr. Castle. He has vital information to whatever case you are currently working on." She recalled telling him that particular impression needed work—her opinion hadn't changed. He even reverted to a whining nine-year-old at one point: "Come on, why won't you answer my call?"

Her phone began ringing once more. She looked at her caller ID and shook her head. She couldn't help but smile, just a little bit. She waited until it went to voicemail and checked her call log. It was full of "missed" calls from him. _This would be call number what—five-hundred-thirty-eight?_ He had left at least one message each day, and that didn't begin to count the calls where he had just hung up after realizing it went to voicemail again. At least some things never changed: Castle was still ridiculously excessive.

Her phone beeped, alerting her to another message. She sighed and put the phone to her ear, ready for another outlandish listening experience. This one was not what she expected, however. It was different, his voice quiet and almost sad. "Kate, I miss you. Please, call me and let's talk about this. Please." With that, he simply hung up. It almost felt like he had shed all pretenses, had cast off his pride and given it one last _genuine_ shot at communication. She steeled herself against the compassion that welled up within her. _He is a master manipulator, I'll give him that_. This time she hit the delete button with more force than was required.

A few days passed. No messages. _He_ had finally gotten the message, so to speak. _Good, _she told herself. She couldn't completely deny that she missed him, but she'd get over it soon enough.A few more days came and went, still nothing from him. Kate convinced herself that she wasn't keeping track of how long it had been.

About a week later, her phone rang. She had almost gotten to the point of automatic answering again, but glanced down this time for some reason. Kate's breath caught as caller ID displayed Castle's name, her finger hovering over the accept button. Determined to be done with this game once and for all, she returned the phone to her pocket. Minutes passed, then an hour. No message. It was finally over.

He must have tried everything in the book—everything except admitting that he had been wrong. _That's all I really wanted to hear. Why can't they just say they're sorry?_


	7. I'm Very, Very Sorry

Author's Note: See notes on Chapter One for a more complete introduction. This chapter picks up with the events of episode 2.1 _Deep in Death_ and contains both Beckett's point of view as well as Castle's—one just wouldn't work right without the other. In Kate's flashback, I'm revisiting my own fifth chapter of this story and adding a bit of postscript; I took some liberties in a conversation between Castle and Sorenson, and am following it up with a shorter one between Sorenson and Beckett, also probably not strictly in canon.

Disclaimer: _Castle_ and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

_Richard Castle, Grown-Up_

_Chapter Seven: I'm Very, Very Sorry_

"Why can't they just say they're sorry?" Alexis' words rang in the silence.

Rick tried to process her words and came to a stunning realization: _that's it! I never apologized to her, did I? Even once? _He wanted to slam the heel of his hand into his forehead and scream "duh!" How could he have been so blind?

He thought back over the past week. He hadn't apologized for the "policewomen" or the photo shoot, for disrupting the entire precinct. He did feel terribly about intruding himself into her life again without giving her warning, but that last phone call she ignored had been his attempt to let her know that he would be there the following week for publicity purposes. After all, it wasn't really his fault; the magazine had insisted and the Mayor agreed, and he couldn't _force_ her to answer her phone, could he? Still, he hadn't left the message he had intended on when he dialed her number; instead he'd hung up in frustration.

What he'd done that had angered her in the first place, digging into her mom's case, he owned that one; but had he told _her _that? He'd left message after message, trying to explain, but never simply saying those two little words: I'm sorry.

Before this week, Rick had never truly thought he'd see Detective Kate Beckett again. She hadn't answered any of his numerous phone calls and had made it crystal clear that there would be no forgiveness, regardless of his motivation. He knew that he had hurt her, deeply, and if the only way to make it better was for her to cut him out of her life, it was a just penance for him to pay.

If he had felt bad at not seeing her for the entire summer, it was much worse when she just didn't care whether he was around or not. Those had been the words she used: she didn't care anymore. So he set about _making_ her care. He knew he was being annoying and stupid; _did I really offer to buy her a pony_? He couldn't help himself. At least an annoyed reaction would be similar to how they had started out and they could work from there again if they had to. Rick had to prove, both to himself and to Beckett, that she _did _care.

Working with her on another case had reawakened his desire to be near her; without a doubt he had realized that he _needed_ to get her to let him back in. He had agreed to her deal, one case and then he'd leave her alone if that's what she still wanted. He thought one would be all he needed to insinuate himself back into her life, warning her that she'd change her mind.

The case ended, too soon to be sure that he had accomplished his purpose. He hoped against hope that their working together again had been the key to all of this, that he had been right when he told her she would change her mind. "We make a great team, you know." Then he put his nose where it didn't belong _again_, pushed _his_ desires ahead of _hers _regarding Johanna's case: "We have good leads, we have strong leads. We could do it together." They'd been having a nice conversation, even bantering back and forth again, and he'd just _had_ to go there. Tactical error. Big time.

Her quiet outburst began and he knew he'd blown it once more. Why hadn't he just left well enough alone? "You dredged up my past for _you_, Castle, not for me, and you're too selfish to even see it. The case is _closed_. We made a deal, and I expect you to honor it."

He had crossed the line she had drawn in the sand, repeatedly. Perhaps he had initially crossed it before he knew just exactly where it had been drawn, but he should have asked before he ever moved his feet. Castle realized now that what he had justified as wanting to help her had been just exactly what she had accused him of: selfishly pursuing what he wanted, thoughtless of how Kate would feel about it or the impact that it would have on her.

He saw things very clearly in this instant, thanks to his daughter. Hugging Alexis tightly to him, he uttered a simple, "thank you." She had given him the key, and he wasn't going to wait to try one final time. He hoped Beckett was still at her desk.

* * *

It had been a hard day. Finishing up paperwork, she acknowledged that seeing Castle again was a roller coaster ride that didn't stop: one minute she was trying not to laugh at his ridiculous antics and fighting the enjoyment she derived from just being around him, the next she wanted to strangle him with her own two hands.

They had argued yet again, just hours ago. At least it was over, finally. She had made her decision clear; it didn't matter if it hurt her, too. This way the wounds would be allowed to heal, given enough time.

Months ago, she had stormed away from him, never looking back. After wandering around outside the hospital for what seemed like hours trying to release her anger to avoid venting it on Will, she returned to his room. He was fast asleep, the medication finally demanding he rest.

The next day, she went to the hospital again after getting off shift at the precinct. She knocked softly on the door as she entered the room. "Hey, you're awake. How are you doing?" She moved the chair closer to his bedside and sat down.

"Kate! I'm good as new. Well, almost, anyway. They'll be turning me loose sometime tomorrow. How are you doing?"

"I'm good." She pasted the required smile in place.

"Liar."

"What?"

"You never came back after your chat with Writer Monkey. What happened?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter. And I did come back, but you were doing your best impression of Sleeping Beauty."

Her attempt at shifting the conversation didn't work. "He came to talk to me, you know, after you left."

She was stunned. _Why would he do that?_

"He's sorry that you got hurt. He said that he never meant to cause you pain."

"It doesn't matter, Will. He did what I asked him not to do. I _did_ get hurt. And if he's so sorry, why didn't he tell me so himself?"

"Castle said he did—"

"No. He didn't." She bit out the words. Why was Will pushing this, anyway? She thought he'd be happy to see the novelist depart. "He kept trying to _explain _himself. He never once told me he was sorry. There's a big difference." She looked down at her lap and a sigh rose from deep within her chest. "Can we talk about something else, please?"

Will placed his hand atop hers as it rested on the hospital bed, squeezing it in a silent plea. When she glanced up, he quietly answered her question. "Sure. But do me a favor and at least consider forgiving him—for your sake as well as his?"

They went on to talk about other things, most of which she didn't remember. Her mind was engaged in a struggle, trying to process what Will had told her against her still white-hot anger at what Castle had done.

To think that she had admitted to the captain that she didn't believe she could have solved the case without him! After that admission, after _accepting_ him, he had betrayed her by doing the _one_ thing she had asked him not to. It didn't matter that he was unaware of what she told Montgomery; Castle had gotten her to lower her defenses and then taken advantage of that. She wouldn't let him do it again.

She had been right about him all along. Mr. Modesty had told the interviewer from _Cosmopolitan_ that he'd been essential to solving some of their toughest cases. He was arrogant. He was selfish. He was insufferable. His attitude was simply another log to add to the fire of her anger, one more thing to keep her defenses against him strong.

Those defenses needed all the shoring up she could give them, too. Working with him again just felt right, like a comfortable pair of shoes. His theories could be wild, but sometimes they were right. Then there were those tough cases where he made the day—well, _fun_.

She was tempted to take Will's advice and forgive Castle, to just move on as before. His charm was a potent weapon against the wall she had tried to build up against him. She could ignore his calls all day long, but when he was right in front of her, it was so much more difficult to pretend that she wanted nothing to do with him. Truth be told, she _had _looked back on her time with Castle, and it wasn't _always_ in anger—they had enjoyed some fun together and she missed him.

_Still_, she reminded herself, _he did the one thing I asked him not to, and I won't open myself up to that kind of hurt again. I can't. _Firmly pushing Richard Castle out of her conscious mind, she returned to the paperwork.

* * *

Arriving at the precinct, he exited the elevator and looked toward Kate's desk. She was still here. He exhaled, glad for one more chance, but realizing that this was truly his last opportunity to make it right. As he came to stand beside her desk, he waited until she acknowledged his presence; it seemed an eternity before she looked at him, anger and something else he didn't dare identify still flashing in her eyes.

Without preamble, he launched in. "I'm sorry. What I did was wrong. I violated your trust, I opened old wounds and I did not respect your wishes. And if we're not going to see each other again, then you deserve to know: I'm very, very sorry."

No response.

It hadn't been enough.

He nodded his understanding and turned around, moving several desks away before he heard her voice. "Castle? I'll see you tomorrow." That was all she said as she retuned to her paperwork, but it was sufficient to let him know that she had decided.

He smiled and resumed his journey to the elevator, thankful that she had at last forgiven him. Tempted to dance through the building, he restrained himself as much as possible but refused to hide the sheer joy shining from his face; the feeling of finally repairing their broken relationship was just too wonderful to contain. _Things will get back to normal, _he thought_, whatever that looks like._


	8. A Better Man

Author's Note: See notes on Chapter One for a more complete introduction. This chapter encompasses episodes 2.2 _The Double Down_ through 2.11 _The Fifth Bullet_; it's a large group of episodes, but as far as Castle's growth goes, there wasn't a lot to write that couldn't be taken as a whole. I'll be slowing down considerably in the next few chapters.

Disclaimer: _Castle_ and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

_Richard Castle, Grown-Up_

_Chapter Eight: A Better Man  
_

_Things will get back to normal, _he thought_, whatever that looks like._

Largely, they had. He'd continued to shadow Beckett and their verbal sparring had returned. He breathed a sigh of relief. She'd given him a second chance and he wasn't going to mess up this time.

Their relationship had actually _improved _somewhat from where they had been before this past summer. Contrary to what he'd feared, Beckett had forgiven him completely. He comprehended that fact when she didn't avoid mentioning her mother around him, even drawing comparisons between her own experience and that of a family who found themselves in a similar situation. "I guess you could say 'what does it matter, the person that you love is dead,' but knowing _why_ matters." He'd wanted to say something, to somehow just _fix_ it for her, but was afraid of the wrong thing coming out. Rather than hurt her more than he already had in regards to her mother, he shut his mouth. Rick was learning to control himself when the situation required it.

Castle began to notice that his experiences with Kate Beckett had changed him; her compassion for others seemed to have produced those same feelings in him. Rather than everything always being about him, he gradually had become concerned about other people. It didn't just extend to Alexis and Martha, either; it reached to those wholly unconnected with himself, people he wouldn't have even noticed a year ago.

Twice in the past few months, he'd been presented with opportunities from the fairer sex and not taken the bait. One was a model named Rina. When he found out that she had been Alexis' babysitter not so long ago, Rick had switched from lothario to father, giving the girl a safe place that she could retreat to. He hoped she would never find herself friendless with nowhere to go for help; to him providing that had been worth more than what would have surely ended up as a meaningless fling.

The other opportunity turned out to be a narrow miss that had showed him the value of restraint. Scarlett Price had appeared to be a victim in every sense of the word: lost in the allure of the big city only to then face the hard realities of New York, she'd fallen in with an escort ring as her money had run out. Beaten up by Knox and scared, she'd waited for Rick at his apartment. Rick reassured her that she was safe and stopped her when she'd kissed him as some twisted form of payment, telling her that she didn't need to be that person around him. He found her attractive, but would not take advantage of a vulnerable woman. His gentlemanly behavior had saved him; while she appeared to be a victim, she surely was _not_. In fact, she turned out to be the murderer even as she tried to place blame on Knox, whom she had killed as well. _Women!_

In some ways, his life had become anything but normal. He had a teenage daughter and that guaranteed an absence of whatever might be considered typical, at least for a few years. A struggle lately, their relationship had hit some bumps, largely due to his overprotective nature. He remembered all too well what it was like to be a young man and was certain that Alexis' violin teacher was entertaining thoughts of his little girl. Of course, it didn't help that at the time they were working on the case of a dead con-man who may have been bilking an heiress. Just to be on the safe side, he'd done some checking up on Dillon.

Alexis found out about what he'd done and confronted him, in the precinct's interrogation room! Beckett had accurately described it as Alexis taking him apart like a pro. The most painful part of it all was that his daughter had been right. She deserved his trust, even if the world at large did not; Alexis had a good head on her shoulders and she should be able to find someone that inspired her as a violinist without her dad losing it on her. Growing up was hard to do—even for a grown man.

Castle had also wrestled with his writing. What _did _he want to write? A James Bond offer had come his way, but that would mean leaving Kate Beckett—_Nikki Heat_ his mind corrected—behind. His mother seemed to think the detective would be happy if he moved on, thrilled even. While the comments had stung his pride, they did seem to be at least partially accurate given the fight they'd had at the launch party for _Heat Wave_. She certainly appeared ready to show him the door, ready to be done with Nikki and all of the attention that came with her. The argument had ended with his deciding to write Bond and leave the precinct behind. But thankfully, the sales for _Heat Wave_ had been so strong that he instead ended up committing to write three more Heat novels, and of course that meant that he needed to do further research. Rick had been afraid that she would be reluctant to take him back once she'd finally been rid of him, but her simple question as she headed out to the next crime scene had set his mind at rest. "Are you coming, or what?"

He wasn't sure just exactly why he had been so relieved. Writing Bond had been a dream of his; he'd loved the character since childhood. Somehow, though, when put alongside Nikki Heat, his own creation inspired by a truly remarkable—and very real—woman, he was glad to continue her story. Bond would always be there, after all; he was ageless.

There was still some selfishness left in him, though. Everything came back to what Kate had told Elise at the end of that con-man case. "He changed his ways because you made him want to be a better man." Maybe that was a little bit of what was happening to him: this extraordinary woman had created a desire within _him_ to be a better man. No one had made him feel like _that_ before, and he didn't want to lose his chance to see where all of this might lead.


	9. Of all the Murders

Author's Note: See notes on Chapter One for a more complete introduction. This chapter deals with episode 2.12 _A Rose for Everafter. _

Disclaimer: _Castle_ and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

_Richard Castle, Grown-Up_

_Chapter Nine: Of all the Murders…_

No one had made him feel like _that_ before, and he didn't want to lose his chance to see where all of this might lead.

Kate virtually heard him think these things—it was in the way he looked at Kyra Blaine.

She felt bad for him, really: his old flame had to be considered a suspect in their murder investigation. That wasn't exactly the best way to run into someone special from the past, especially if there were still unresolved feelings involved. Last year, Kate had an old love walk back into her life, but she and Will Sorenson had worked together—she hadn't been investigating him.

Rick must have felt like he'd been given a second chance and he wasn't going to let her slip through his fingers again. It was hard for Kate to watch him with "the one who got away," knowing he saw her return to his life as an irresistible opportunity to recapture the spark they had known, preventing her marriage to another man.

Kate had been watching Rick carefully. His history with Kyra was clearly clouding his judgment and _that_ complicated their case. Castle wasn't acting like himself: he should have been all over the juicy story of a bride murdering a bridesmaid who slept with her fiancée the night before the wedding. It sounded like an excellent plot for his next bestseller! But that wasn't his reaction at all.

"That's impossible," he dismissed the notion of her guilt with barely a thought.

She tried to point out that he was too close to be seeing things clearly. "That's not what Richard Castle would say. He would paint a picture about the night before the wedding. About how Kyra couldn't fall asleep and so she went down to see Greg only to find Sophie emerging from his room. And the thought that her fiancée could cheat on her the night before their wedding was too much. And so she follows Sophie to her room and confronts her, and when things get violent, Sophie ends up dead."

Kate watched him try to process the possibility, but he just couldn't. "You have to stay away from her, Castle, until this case is closed." She worried that Kyra was another Scarlett, using Rick's obvious interest in her to screen her crimes.

She sat at her desk the next morning, emotions rioting in her head and in her heart. She feared what Kyra's guilt might do to Castle; another moment she was angry that he had ignored her warning to stay away until the case was over. At some points, she was even jealous over the whole situation. _This is ridiculous!_ She decided to ignore his clandestine meeting with Kyra, to forgive his stupid mistake and not even mention it to him knowing what an emotional roller coaster he had been on. She still had to remove him from this case, though; when he came in, she would send him home for a week or two.

When Castle came in, she gave him a hard time for messing with her chair. _He knows how I hate that and did it to provoke a reaction from me; maybe it will soften what I have to tell him afterwards. _They bantered for a moment, he apologized for the chair, and as she tried to find a way to tell him to go home, he began speaking again.

"I saw her last night." He didn't look at her but quietly admitted what he had done.

Kate released her breath as a small smile of relief curved her lips. So he _had _been listening when she scolded him about talking to a witness on his own. He _had_ taken the conversation to heart about how inappropriate it was, how it could compromise their case. It hadn't stopped him from meeting Kyra, but he _had_ told Kate the truth with no direct prompting on her part. They had made some definite progress. "I know."

"What?" His face was confused, so she passed the surveillance photos to him.

Castle was a little bit angry, but his relief that he had admitted what he had done was obvious. He had been honest with her, and knew that she realized and appreciated it.

Thankfully, Kyra had been innocent. Kate knew that Castle would have been devastated had he been wrong about her. She figured he'd take some time away from the precinct and pursue his lost love, but instead he'd shocked her by asking to be the one to show Kyra something they'd found.

"Detective, since the case is closed, can I borrow some evidence for a minute?"

"Evidence? Castle, what are you up to?"

He almost seemed ashamed. "I cast doubt on an innocent man. Kyra deserves to know the truth about—the man she's going to marry. She shouldn't have to wonder for the rest of their life about his fidelity." Kate allowed him to show her the recording that proved Greg had not cheated on his fiancée.

Castle had seemed willing to do anything to get what he wanted when they first met; for a while, she was infuriated every time she remembered how he used his friendship with the mayor to start shadowing her. But now, he was being noble. Rick accepted that once he showed Kyra the proof, she'd be marrying his rival, and he really did seem alright with that. When she coupled his selfless gesture with the fact that Kyra was a normal woman, totally unlike his ex-wives, she was finding it necessary to radically adjust her opinion of the man. _I'm not sure what to do with all of this new information. I didn't think he even knew what a real woman looked like, but he dated this one for three years. She was back in his life and he let her go again, ensuring her happiness even if it's without him. Who are you and what have you done with Rick Castle? _

Kate was still trying to process everything as Kyra walked out, leaving Castle sitting alone. She briefly paused at Kate's desk. "He's all yours." It shouldn't have been that difficult to understand, but Kate wasn't ready to comprehend the full meaning behind those words yet.


	10. I Can't Shadow You Anymore

Author's Note: See notes on Chapter One for a more complete introduction. This chapter deals with episode 2.13 _Sucker Punch. _

Disclaimer: _Castle_ and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

_Richard Castle, Grown-Up_

_Chapter Ten: I Can't Shadow You Anymore_

It shouldn't have been that difficult to understand, but Kate wasn't ready to comprehend the full meaning behind those words yet. _The very same method and the very same weapon that the killer employed—ten years ago. Ten years ago. Ten years ago. _The words echoed around the room.

Castle hadn't taken his eyes off of her except to occasionally glance at Lanie or Dr. Murray. He didn't need to see the pictures because they were identical to the ones he had shown the forensic pathologist several months ago in his ill-advised foray into Johanna Beckett's murder.

Despite the fact that Castle had already told Kate some of this same information that Dr. Murray was even now relating, she looked like she'd never heard any of it before. It was then Rick realized the shock that she had experienced when he admitted what he'd done must have overridden the details he had tried to share with her at the time. He watched as her expression turned from professionally interested to horrified disbelief; the words fell into place at last, uniting the facts in her mind.

Kate handled a plastic reconstruction of the blade used in both crimes, then fingered a similar weapon that the doctor had brought along as an example. She looked as if that very knife had just been plunged into her own midsection. Rick's heart broke at the way she gently touched the photos of Jack Coonan's wounds—almost as if she were touching her mother's. Lanie looked as worried as he was. This could be bad, _really _bad.

He thought she'd look to him for confirmation that she had indeed put all of this together correctly, but she seemed to be avoiding his gaze instead.

"Lanie?" Her voice was strangled, halting. She was grasping for a lifeline to prevent another trip to the hole that had nearly consumed her. It was clear that the answer she wanted would not be forthcoming.

"I'm so sorry."

But it was Dr. Murray who was willing to say the words no one else could: "Detective Beckett, there is _no_ doubt in my mind that Jack Coonan was killed by the same man who murdered your mother."

* * *

Beckett came to his apartment later that night, and he wanted her to know that the call was hers alone to make; he would not push her beyond where she was willing to go. "I will do anything that you need, including nothing if that's what you want." He was thrilled that she had decided to again pursue her mom's killer, knowing it meant she finally felt strong enough to unearth the rest of Johanna's story. The beautiful detective would have the closure she'd been denied for so long.

But he was ecstatic that she was asking _him_ to close this case with her; after last summer's fiasco, he wouldn't have blamed her for shutting him out of this one. They _would _do this together, and there was no way he'd let her fall back into the pit that had almost consumed her before.

When they brought Dick Coonan in, it was clear she wasn't totally confident that solving the case could actually be done. She stared through the two-way glass in the observation room at the man who was her one link to the professional killer who had murdered her mother, fear creeping in, causing her to doubt everything she was doing.

"What if I let her down?" The words sounded as if they were wrung from her very soul.

No matter what he said, he feared it would sound cliché and empty. He couldn't tell her that she wouldn't let her mother down because that wasn't what she needed to hear. She may _want_ to hear it, but deep down she would believe that it was merely a thinly veiled half-truth; anything could happen in a case like this and they both knew that. She was looking to him for honesty and support. "Do you know why I chose you as my inspiration for Nikki Heat?"

"No. Why?"

Rick knew she expected him to call her extraordinary again, but he wanted to give her more. The dangerous combination of the single-minded focus with which she was again pursing her mom's case and the fear that she might still come up empty meant that she was getting closer and closer to the pit. He would do whatever it took to keep her from sliding back in there.

Castle decided that he would do what he did best: he'd turn the serious into something to laugh about. While others might think it was neither the time nor place to crack a joke, he knew that's exactly what she needed at that moment. Not about her mother's murder, of course, but why he picked _her _to base a character on. He hoped that she understood by now that he continued to follow her because she had become important to him, so a little levity in that area couldn't hurt. It didn't much matter if she laughed or rolled her eyes at him—or even if she slugged him in the stomach—as long as Kate knew she wasn't alone in this, that her wisecracking shadow wasn't going anywhere.

"Because you're tall." It had been a while since he'd seen a genuine smile on her face but his comment had put one there; it was small, but there. He was pleased that his little joke had simultaneously lightened her mood and refocused her on what she knew by bringing up Nikki: she _was_ a good detective.

The anxiety that she could still walk away from this one case without a final answer had momentarily paralyzed her, but now she was ready. Her face became stern again and she took a deep breath to brace herself for the confrontation. She felt prepared to face the man who could lead her to her mother's killer, the very same thug who'd killed Jack Coonan at his own brother's behest. Seeing her detective persona back in place with confidence, he sent her to battle. "Now go in there and do your job."

* * *

"I let her down," Kate gave voice to her thought.

For this exact reason, Castle had not assured her it would all go well: their carefully crafted plan had failed. What she most dreaded _had_ happened, the one case she hadn't touched again, the one that would kill her if she couldn't solve it, had just reached another dead end.

"No, you didn't." He had to say something; maybe it wouldn't change how she felt, but he somehow knew Johanna would have wanted her daughter to realize that she could never let her down, whether she solved the murder or not.

"Rathbourne is in the wind, Dick Coonan is about to walk. I missed something."

"Could've been me. Rathbourne could have checked the routing number, realized the number was coming from my account, not Dick's. I was arrogant." As he spoke the words, it drove the truth deeper into his heart, terrifying him. _If this is somehow my fault—_

"I didn't think you were arrogant, I thought what you did was sweet. And I will pay you back." Amazing. She was comforting _him_!

"Negative, Ghostwriter. Small price to pay for a shot at your mother's killer."

"Her killer?" Kate's voice held an unmistakable question but he wasn't sure why.

"What?"

"Coonan said it was a hundred grand to catch _her _killer."

"And you never told him it was your mother that was murdered."

They had just solved it—Coonan and Rathbourne were one and the same. Dick Coonan _was _the trained killer. And he hadn't left yet, either; they moved into the bullpen where he was finishing up his paperwork. Kate didn't mince words.

"There was no Rathbourne. That was just a cover. It was you."

Coonan looked up and smiled slightly, almost as if he were embarrassed to have been caught still in the precinct when they figured out his ruse. "Clever girl," he causally remarked, then as a coiled snake will strike before its victim has a chance to react, he took down the officer signing him out, using that officer's gun to take Castle hostage.

_How do I manage to get myself into these things? _Rick agonized. Coonan was now using him as his escape route. _Oh, no, he's not! _There was no way Castle was going to let him get away with this.

Captain Montgomery realized what was going on and quickly moved between them and the elevator door, gun aimed at Coonan. In stunned disbelief, Rick watched as the gun lowered, Kate talking her boss into letting them go. Coonan had two hostages, now: a writer and a woman who desperately needed answers. One he held physically; the other was even more firmly in his grasp.

Castle shook his head slightly, signaling Kate that she could not let Coonan leave the precinct, no matter what words or actions he used to manipulate her into doing so. She ignored him. For the first time since he'd known her, she seemed to be backing down from something, but this was not the one to give in on! _Has everyone here gone mad? If she won't stop him, if the Captain won't, I have to._

He made a royal mess of things. Slamming the back of his head into Coonan's nose, he hoped to daze the man and remove the leverage he gained by taking Castle hostage. What he hadn't thought about was the fact that this man was a trained killer; he had been stunned, yes, but before Rick could get out of the way, Coonan had a gun leveled at him, ready to make good on his threat of killing the writer. Waiting the split-second for the inevitable bullet, he was shocked as he heard the shot and _Coonan_ fell backwards onto the floor. It was then he realized what had happened: Kate had been forced to shoot Dick Coonan, the man who had her answers, to save Rick's life.

Even after the formal statement, he kept replaying everything over and over in his mind; his conscience wouldn't let him rest until he'd faced it all head-on. _I don't think I'll ever be able to get those images out of my head. _Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Coonan's blood flowing out over Kate's hands as she tried to perform CPR on the man she'd just shot. The dying man had her answers, but wouldn't be telling her anything now. Her sobs proved she knew that, but she couldn't give up yet. "Come on! Four, five, six, seven, eight… Stay with me. Come on, stay with me. No! Come on! Stay with me! One, two, three…"

He could tell as he watched that Kate was in danger of falling deeper into that hole than she had ever been before. Rick placed his hand on her shoulder, offering his soundless support and trying to pull her back from the precipice, the one he had just pushed her further towards. _What have I done? Why did I have to play the hero?_

Coonan's body was moved to the morgue and Kate had taken a few minutes to clean up and change into the spare clothes she kept in a locker. She was in Captain Montgomery's office when they told Rick he could leave whenever he wished since he'd given his statement, so he decided to take a walk to clear his head. Exiting the building, he began walking aimlessly, his thoughts in turmoil. _She'll never have closure now, _a voice taunted in his mind. _You think you're willing to do whatever it takes for her, but you were more concerned about yourself this time. _That wasn't true; yes, he knew that once Dick Coonan had no further use for a hostage, he was a dead man. He also knew that Coonan would be out of the country before the police could even begin to catch up with him, taking whatever knowledge he had with him. _But effectively, I've caused the same thing. Now she has no hope of finding her mother's killer. It's my fault. _

His stomach began rumbling. Food. He could bring her food. She needed to eat. And perhaps he could also give her something else, something he was afraid she'd long desired: he would quit shadowing her. Maybe if he wasn't around constantly, reminding her of why she'd never catch the men behind her mother's murder, she'd be able to move on with her life. It was the only form of resolution left that he could offer her.

* * *

He showed up at her desk with dinner for the two of them. "I didn't know what you felt like, so I got Sushi, got some Italian, got some Thai. I even grabbed some hotdogs." He filled her desk with food.

She tried to reassure him. "It's not your fault, you know."

This was the hardest thing he'd ever done. But he couldn't keep putting his desires ahead of her. It was time for him to take responsibility for his actions, to be the grown-up his age required. He needed to leave before he did even more damage to her life. "I overstepped. I came down here to say that I was sorry, and that I'm through. I can't shadow you anymore. If it wasn't for me—"

She interrupted his words. "If it wasn't for you, I would've never found my mom's killer." While he was glad that he'd provided the money to lure "Rathbourne," leading them to the knowledge that he was really Coonan, he couldn't get past the fact that he was now dead, taking the name of the man who had hired him to the grave. And Rick knew that it _was_ his fault. He wanted to stay, part of him needed to be near her, but he'd already caused her too much pain.

Part of the battle that raged within him must have shown on his face because she continued. "If you tell anyone what I'm about to say, there's going to be another shooting, but I've gotten used to you pulling my pigtails. I have a hard job, Castle, and having you around makes it a little more fun."

He looked at her and smiled at her kindness. He had just taken away her best shot at finding the person responsible for having her mother killed, and she was trying to make _him _feel better? She gave him a way to continue to work with her, actually told him she _wanted_ him around when she caught whoever had hired Coonan to kill her mother. It had to be a first—she was asking him to _stay_.

Not only that, but she was still determined to catch the person behind it all. Despite everything that had happened in the past 24 hours, she hadn't given up. Rather than bury it again, this time even deeper than before, she had decided that the case was solvable, that one day just the right detail would break and she _would _put all of this behind her.

This woman was indeed extraordinary; in fact, that word seemed to fall dramatically short as a descriptor of Detective Kate Beckett.


	11. A Dad, Just a Regular Dad

Author's Note: See notes on Chapter One for a more complete introduction. For this chapter, I'm encompassing episodes 2.14 _The Third Man_ through 2.16 _The Mistress Always Spanks Twice. _I'm writing this chapter from Alexis' perspective since she figured prominently in these episodes.

The extremely long delay between my last chapter and this one is due to modern technology: my DVR crashed, taking all of my _Castle _episodes with it. I've had to wait to get the DVDs _and_ writing time. Thanks for your patience and for picking the story back up.

Disclaimer: _Castle_ and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

_Richard Castle, Grown-Up_

_Chapter Eleven: A Dad—Just a Regular Dad_

This woman was indeed extraordinary; in fact, that word seemed to fall dramatically short as a descriptor of Detective Kate Beckett. Alexis Castle had heard her dad refer to her as extraordinary, but she thought _miracle_ might be more apt!

She had never seen her dad act this way about any woman before. Normally, he'd just move on if someone didn't seem interested. There were plenty of women who _did _want to go out with him, like her Vice Principal and her German teacher; even her friend Sloane had actually called her dad "choice!" _Ugh! Other adults are one thing, but one of my friends? Seriously?_ By the end of the day, she was really hoping that Beckett had kicked her dad out of the precinct. _He deserves to suffer for being Bachelor Number Nine! No, he deserves to suffer because he doesn't care that this is so very embarrassing. _Had Richard Castle been there at that moment, he would have seen his daughter give an uncanny impression of him saying, "Oh, you hate me a little bit right now, don't you?" with a sarcastic emphasis not unlike his own.

The thing was, Alexis genuinely liked Detective Beckett and would be sad if her dad wasn't hanging around with her. Kate was an amazing woman: smart, driven, beautiful and able to handle herself in a room full of men without missing a beat. The detective had so far been the only woman her father had ever been interested in that saw the teenager as anything other than a path to her dad.

In many ways, Richard Castle was still a mystery, even to his daughter. She loved him, but she didn't think she'd ever really understand him. Sometimes, she felt as if she were the parent and her dad the child. Relationships and her dad were often a—well—disaster. He didn't seem to be in anything for the long-term and that worried the teen a bit. "I'm not going to be here forever, and then who's going to look after you then? Bachelorette Number Three?" She wanted him to understand that he needed to stop wasting time and get serious with someone. Kate Beckett perhaps? But could her dad's attention span last long enough to not only start a relationship with the detective, but to continue in it once the thrill of the chase had ended?

_He is such a contradiction—a child one minute, and a totally awesome dad the next. _"Look, it's my job to worry about you, not the other way around," he had reminded her. He _did_ occasionally play the over-protective dad; when she had tried out for cheerleading he hadn't exactly been overjoyed. But one of the best things about her dad was the way that he let her try things out on her own.

Being a teenager, trying to find out who she really was, that was tough. Sometimes it became boring being the "good girl" all of the time and she got tired of hiding in her comfort zone and had to do something—unexpected. Her dad seemed fine with that and never tried to tell her who she should be or how she should act. His love for her was unconditional.

Knowing what a great guy her dad was, faults and all, made her sorry that he didn't even know who _his _dad was. She would have liked to meet the man who was, at least biologically, her grandfather, but that didn't seem important to Richard Castle. His writer's brain seemed to enjoy making him whoever he wanted to be. "Right now, my father could be an astronaut, a pirate, a humanitarian, winner of the Nobel Prize. I mean, what one man could live up to that?"

No one man could, she was forced to admit. Even so, she wouldn't have wanted to trade a moment with her dad for a lifetime of daydreaming about who her dad _might_ be. The real thing was beyond anything she could have made up.

And he was becoming even better with Kate Beckett around. Alexis liked the changes she'd seen in her father since he'd started shadowing the detective. Ironically, he seemed to appreciate life more now after he'd seen so much death firsthand, as if he finally understood that it wasn't just a big game. It was like Kate pushed him to be more on his toes, more thoughtful, more—grown-up. That was it: Richard Castle was becoming a grown-up and his daughter was glad to see it.


End file.
